biografi SG ga cuma soal MU. Baca yang ini biar tahu apa posisi
favorit SG, kenapa SG sampe ribut ma GH dll....
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PARENT'S BREAK-UP STILL TEARS ME APART
Adapted by David Harrison
ONLY one word can describe my life in the build-up to Liverpool's
vital Champions League game against Basle: Carnage.
Mum and Dad were splitting up. I couldn't tell anyone at Liverpool
because it was too personal. It felt like a bereavment.
There was trouble in the house, arguing, fighting. I love my parents
so much it was desperate to watch them tearing each other apart.
It was supposed to be perfect. I had bought a house in Whiston and the
three of us lived there, with Paul, my brother, keeping the house in
Ironside. I was gutted Paul didn't come with us.
Family means everything to me, all together, sitting around and
laughing, under one roof. However crazy my life became with Liverpool
and England, I wanted that protective wall of my family around me.
At first, I didn't know my parents were quarrelling. They kept it from
me, didn't want to upset me.
But they couldn't hide the tension for ever. I found myself getting
dragged into their nightmare.
When I came back in I heard the arguments which they quickly tried to
stop when they realised I was home.
Even now, looking back, it still rips my heart apart. I just wanted
everything to be perfect, for everyone to be together. No fights.
The turmoil at home destroyed my game. My form hit a brick wall. As I
pulled my boots on and did up my laces, my thoughts were miles away.
In training and matches, all I could think about was that two people I
adored were going their separate ways.
The split happened over a couple of months and I couldn't handle it.
Tension between me and the manager, Gerard Houllier, built and built.
When the boss took me off against Spurs at Anfield in October, 2002, I
snapped.
Straight down the tunnel, no acknowledgement. Straight into the
dressing-room, door slamming, boots flying, absolutely steaming.
I hate being hooked, however rubbish I'm playing. For Christ's sake,
not in front of the Kop where my mates are watching.
Storming past Houllier at Anfield p***** him off big-time. I stayed in
the dressing-room, alone with my anger. Houllier went mental and fined
me.
But the most depressing point in my relationship with Houllier came in
the pretty Swiss town of Basle the following month.
Everyone in Liverpool's colours needed all their energy and focus for
this massive Champions League tie, the most important game of the
season, but my head wasn't right.
Before we flew out to Basle, Gerard hauled me into his office at
Melwood. He'd had enough. He wanted to find out what was bugging me. I
walked in to be confronted by coaches Phil Thompson, Sammy Lee, the
goalkeeping coach Joe Corrigan and head scout Alex Miller, as well as
Gerard.
Gerard opened up first: "What's eating you, Steven? Is your family all right?"
I stared at the floor, I should have talked, but I didn't feel
comfortable. Not in front of them all. My silence goaded them. One by
one, they each got stuck into me. They hit me with so many questions
it was like being punched in the face time after time.
Question after question. What the f*** was going on? A goalie coach
was having a go at me. A chief scout was laying into me. Fair enough
if it were Sammy, Gerard or Phil.
Incensed, I struggled to control my fists. I was that close to
attacking them. "Have you lot finished?" I finally said and walked out
the room. Steaming.
How could I possibly stand there and tell five men that my Mum and Dad
were fighting? Every time I thought about it a lump came into my
throat.
Amazingly, I started against Basle. After the ruck with Gerard and his
staff, I assumed I would be on the bench again.
The boss played me in my favourite position, too — central midfield —
but I was shocking. Not focused. Not at the races.
My mind was elsewhere. I looked around St Jakobs Park and just wanted
to be back in Whiston, trying to keep Mum and Dad together. Basle
grabbed a three-goal lead by half-time. And my night was about to get
even worse.
In the dressing-room, I was scarcely through the door when Gerard
shouted: "Steven, shower." That was it. Me off.
Corrigan walked into the showers. "Keep your chin up," he said. "F***
off," I told him. I was in no mood to talk. Liverpool pulled three
goals back, through Danny Murphy, Vladi Smicer and Michael Owen, which
made me look even worse.
We stopped the night in Basle. The next morning I got word Gerard had
had a pop at me. The boss told journalists: "Once a player starts to
believe everything that is written about him and thinks 'I am king of
the world,' there is difficulty and danger."
I was steaming. A few players came up and said: "F***ing hell, Gerard
didn't need to do that." Everyone knew and the papers weren't even out
yet.
When he called me, Gerard claimed it was typical Press over-reaction.
"I had a go at you in the press but they blew it out of proportion,"
he said. B******s. Gerard meant every word. It wasn't malice. The boss
just wanted to shake me out of my poor form.
Liverpool managers have always kept criticism in-house, saying things
privately to players rather than slagging them off in public. What
Gerard did broke the code.
At the very least he should have warned me what he was planning to
tell the media.
Managers must be careful what they say to the media. What happened in
Basle showed a lack of respect on Gerard's part.
My dad hit the roof when he picked up the papers. "What the f*** is
going on?" he asked me. "I know why you're not playing well. It's
because of what is happening in our house between me and your mother.
Doesn't Gerard understand that?"
I couldn't reply. It was simply too painful. "Doesn't Gerard know?"
Dad said again. I shrugged my shoulders. "I've not told him," I
replied eventually.
"It's our fault and I am going to tell Gerard," Dad said.
"No! Leave it!"
"Come on, Steven, either you tell him or I will."
"I'm not."
I was really upset by this time. I felt trapped. Dad was livid. "Give
me Gerard's number?"
"No."
"Right, that's f***ing it. I'm going down the training ground to have
it out with him."
Straight down to Melwood, straight up to Gerard's office, knock on the
door and in.
Nothing was going to stop Dad saying his piece. He was raging. He
explained everything to Gerard and Thommo.
"It's mine and Julie's fault that Steven's off his game," he told them.
Dad was just sticking up for me, I know. When I got back to Whiston, I
thanked him. He knew how unhappy I was. Dad knows me better than
anyone.
"I haven't seen you smile for ages, Steven," he said. "You are not the
happiest of people anyway! But I can tell."
Dad got everything out in the open and from then on my form came back sharpish.
I felt as if a huge stone weight had been lifted off my chest. Mum and
Dad broke up but it was not an aggressive fall-out in the end. They
just sat down, talked and went their separate ways.
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